


The Unheard Music

by HarveyWallbanger



Series: Hanna Is Not Fan-Wanking Disguised As a Story [6]
Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Gen, I suppose this would be considered hurt/comfort, generally unpleasant and disturbing, supernatural scariness, trigger warning: alcohol abuse, trigger warning: blood, trigger warning: domestic violence, trigger warning: psychological abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanna's traumatic past is traumatic.  Take the warnings seriously.  As Hanna says in the installment before this one, this is not a nice story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unheard Music

**Author's Note:**

> I am not Tessa Stone, and this school is not Tessa Stone. Title comes from the song The Unheard Music, by X.

I don't really know how to begin.

Just breathe, Hanna.

Okay. Breathing.  
Okay. I guess the way to start is to say that I've always loved reading. Reading is the best. Everyone says this, but I guess it's because it's true: you can go anywhere, with books. You can go to the past, the future. Around the world. To anything that's ever existed. To things that have never existed. You can even go deeper into yourself.  
I especially loved reading as a kid. I was an only child, which was good in some ways, but, well, it was lonely. I used to beg my parents for a brother or sister. We couldn't have pets because of the rules where we lived- well, that's not true. I had a goldfish, when I was eight.  
Why do they call them 'goldfish'? They're orange.

I don't know. Maybe because it sounds better than 'orange fish'.

Yeah, maybe. Well, he died after a couple of months, and I, uh, I cried a lot, so I guess my parents thought it was probably better to not get me another one.  
So, yeah, I was kind of a lonely kid. I didn't have a lot of friends, because I guess I was also sort of a weird kid. So, I read a lot. I'd read anything. Cookbooks, Cosmopolitan, shampoo bottles, textbooks- I didn't care. We went to the library once a week, me and my mom and dad, and once I was old enough to go on my own, I was there every other day. Sometimes, I didn't even take out any books; I just sat and read until it got dark, and I had to go home.  
I didn't have any major interests; I read a little bit of everything. Until I started learning about the paranormal, anyway. Our library had these big books from the 1970's about E.S.P., and Stonehenge, and stuff. It was like science fiction, but the books tried to give real scientific proof for unexplained phenomena. It was just so cool to me. Suddenly, the world seemed a lot bigger, and a lot more interesting. It never even occurred to me to be scared of any of that stuff. The world was already full of scary things, but it was also full of great things, and there were too many great things to let the scary things keep you from exploring.  
I was so excited when I found out that magic was real, and that anyone could do it. This is going to sound stupid, but it was like I was in Harry Potter: anyone could be a secret wizard- even me. When I was about fourteen, I started doing spells. Most of them didn't work, but I didn't really mind. It was so much fun. It took a while, but I started getting better. It wasn't really how I thought it would be, though. It wasn't instantaneous, and there were certain things that you just couldn't make happen. Part of the fun was figuring that out, what worked and what didn't. I couldn't levitate things, but I was good at, I guess, wanting things to happen, and having them happen. Maybe it wasn't magic, maybe I was just lucky, but it felt like magic.  
The library didn't have a whole lot of books on magic, so I started looking around bookstores. One day, at this weird old place downtown- I think it closed, years ago, because I went looking for it, once, and it was gone- I found this book. Just looking at it, I felt a rush. The book was pretty old, it had obviously had a couple of owners, but in good condition. They let me have it for twenty bucks, probably because it was old, but not old enough to be a real antique. I couldn't wait to get it home, and see what I could do with it.  
At first, I was actually kind of disappointed by the book. There was nothing in there about winning the lottery, or finding lost socks, or making yourself invisible so the teacher wouldn't call on you- nothing practical. It was a lot of stuff about summoning entities to do your bidding- which didn't really interest me- but there was also a lot of stuff about ghosts. Ghosts did interest me; they always have- I don't know why. I'd always wanted to meet one. I guess I figured that they held the secrets of the universe, or something. Maybe I just wanted somebody to talk to who wouldn't think I was weird. That sounds really sad, now that I've said it out loud.  
There was one spell to, um, I can't remember the exact words, but to, like, wake up any ghosts that might be sleeping. I thought that was really interesting. It was also pretty easy to do- most of the other spells involved calculating planetary hours, and stuff like that, and I've never really been all that good at math. So, I did it.  
Nothing happened. I thought I'd just messed it up, and I sort of forgot about it. I did some other spells, and those worked out better. Actually, they worked out a lot better than any spells I'd ever done before. When I did the spells, I could feel the energy, how it expanded. I could feel something reaching out, to receive it. I thought I was getting really talented.

Hanna, you're shaking.

I'm okay. Anyway, around that time, bad things started happening at home. My mom and dad were fighting all the time, about things that didn't even matter. When I was little, they'd fight sometimes, but it was always about money, and they'd only yell for a few minutes, and then spend the night at the kitchen table with calculators. The next day, everything would be better, somehow. My parents loved each other. All kids think that their parents love each other, at least until they see otherwise, but I knew that they loved each other. I could feel it, even when they fought. I was never afraid that they'd get a divorce, which seemed like the worst thing that could happen when I was a kid.  
Suddenly, though, they were fighting all the time. It wasn't just yelling; they said really awful things to each other, too, which they'd never done. It was scary, but I wasn't little anymore, and I figured that this was the way it had always been, but I'd never noticed, because I was too young. I spent a lot of time in my room, which was okay, because the rest of the house was starting to feel scary, even when they weren't fighting. It was late autumn, and it was getting dark earlier; there was a real chill in the air, like I'd never felt before. I wasn't sleeping very well; I kept having dreams that I couldn't remember, but I knew were nightmares. I could barely eat; everything just sort of grossed me out. I felt like I was sick, but I didn't have any real symptoms.  
My dad started staying out late, and my mom started drinking. I'd never seen anyone drunk before. It was actually pretty scary. She never yelled at me, but she always said horrible things when she was drinking. There was something weird about her voice, too; it was low and hard, and it didn't sound like her. She told me that my dad wasn't really my dad. She told me that she wasn't my real mother; that she'd found me, and taken me in because no one else would want a kid like me. I knew that wasn't true, because I look just like both of them. She told me that my dad was having an affair- though, she didn't put it like that. She told me she was glad, because it meant he wouldn't do things to her, if he were doing them to someone else. Then, sometimes, it was like she sobered up immediately; she'd start crying, and begging me to forgive her. She said that none of it was true, and she didn't know why she was saying it; that she was just angry or sad, because my dad wasn't there.  
Then, one night, he came home earlier than usual. She hadn't gone to sleep yet, and as soon as they saw each other, they started shouting at each other. I can't believe none of the neighbors called the police, because it was the worst it had ever been. They were throwing things at each other- afterwards, I saw chairs that had hit the wall. So much broken glass. It was so loud, I had to cover my ears. There was a scream- it was different from the other ones- I couldn't tell whether it was my mom or my dad. Then it was quiet. The quiet was louder than the scream, somehow. I could hear myself breathing. I could hear the blood in my head. For what seemed like an hour, I stayed still; I couldn't move. I just stayed in bed. I was about to get up, to see what had happened, when my bedroom door opened.

You can stop, Hanna, if you need to. You don't have to tell me anymore.

No. It's almost over. It was my mom. She was covered in blood, and she was holding a knife. She was sobbing. She looked at me, and it wasn't her. She took a step forward, and I wanted to move, but I couldn't. Then, suddenly, it was her again. I thought, Everything is going to be all right; she can fix this. Then, she, she said, 'I can't do it', and it was like it hurt her to say it. And then, she stabbed herself.

Oh, Hanna.

I don't remember all that much of what happened after that. I got outside. People were saying that there was blood all over me, but I don't know how it happened. The cops came, finally, and they took me to the hospital. I was there for a while, but there was nothing actually wrong with me, so they had to make me leave, eventually. I couldn't tell them that it was my fault, because they wouldn't have believed me, and even if they had, what would it have mattered? How could they have helped me?  
My mom's sister lived nearby, so I stayed with her until high school was over. She wasn't mean to me, but I knew that she didn't want me there. I wasn't her kid, and her sister was dead, under horrible circumstances; her life had fallen apart, too. And after that-  
I'm sorry. I can't go on. I'll tell you more, but I can't right now.

Hanna? Hanna.

Hmm. What?

Hanna, come here.

I am here.

No, come closer.

Like this?

Closer.

I'm all right.

Maybe I want to be held right now.

Oh. Yeah. It's always you holding me, though. Because I'm smaller than you are.

We'll hold each other.

Don't let go, all right.

I'm not going to.

I mean it. Please don't let go.

I mean it, too. I won't.


End file.
